


Course Correction

by Kaydel



Category: The Mummy Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21573040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaydel/pseuds/Kaydel
Summary: Jonathan really is serious about staying away from tombs and mummies this time (except trouble always seems to find him). Good thing Ardeth is there to help him stay on-track.
Relationships: Ardeth Bay/Jonathan Carnahan
Comments: 25
Kudos: 206
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Course Correction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, queueingtrilobite! I hope you enjoy this short case fic :)
> 
> This is ever-so-slightly canon divergent - it is set after the the first movie, in an AU where Jonathan doesn't actually go back to London and start hooking up with rich women.
> 
> See the end notes for some historical trivia.

Ardeth Bay tells himself he shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed when, on one of his routine trips into Cairo, Jonathan Carnahan drops a small wooden box onto the table in the cramped, dark little hole in the wall where he knows Ardeth likes to have his morning cup of coffee. The shop owners are fellow Medjai, and even if their skill at brewing something even vaguely resembling the coffee Ardeth makes for himself while he is out in the desert leaves much to be desired, their unquestioning loyalty and ability to eavesdrop on the most seemingly inconsequential conversations more than make up for any culinary-related shortcomings. 

Of course, this would have been a lot easier if Jonathan had just said something the night before, when they were lying sweaty and sated in Jonathan’s narrow bed, Jonathan’s clever fingers picking out the intricacies of Ardeth’s various tattoos. But Jonathan had said nothing, simply bragged about his attempts to set up a pub with some of his share of the fortune from Hamunaptra. A civilised place, he claimed, where any person in search of a good drink, or a good story, could find pleasing company and a listening ear.

“Yes,” Ardeth had said sceptically, listening to the sounds of the ancient electric fan trying its hardest to move the humid night air, “I suppose you will be that listening ear, will you not? And if anyone mentions a particular tomb or artifact that might be making the rounds — ”

“Hush!” Jonathan rolled on top of Ardeth, looking affronted. “Haven’t I already told you how sick I am of tombs and mummies and all that sort of thing? Ardeth, I’m going to be a perfectly respectable publican! You’ll see. I’ll even organise some entertainment — now, don’t look at me like that! You know it’ll all be very tasteful — a live band, perhaps. Maybe I’ll hire a cook as well and open up for Sunday lunch. All the comforts of a good English pub, right next to the Nile. They’ll be queueing up all the way down the street to get in.”

“And that will be the end of your…” Ardeth struggled to think of a delicate way to express himself, “adventuring?”

“If you mean to ask, Mister Almighty Medjai, if I’m going to stop getting involved with supernatural beings and magical objects and _mummies_ , then of course I bloody well am!”

Jonathan seemed to sense that Ardeth was not entirely convinced by this pronouncement. “Ardeth, old man, I’ll be honest with you. There’s more money to be had outfitting these expeditions with equipment and supplies, and less risk that I might end up in the clutches of some undead high priest again. I’ve been talking to a… a friend of a friend who supplies the big digs. Carter, Winlock, Petrie, and a few of those stuffy Bembridge scholars. He’s rolling in money. So I was thinking I might as well offer these courageous adventurers — ” he paused as Ardeth interrupted with a derisive snort, “As I was saying! If I could offer that lot a place to relax and find a way to become their official expedition supplier, I reckon that would be a lot easier than actually venturing out into all that sand again.”

He did look a bit guilty now. “And besides, I know you still don’t approve of us foreigners poking around in the tombs of your pharaohs. Which is understandable, you know, given everything that’s happened over the past few years…”

“I would be worried, Jonathan, that you would forget to pack an essential item for them, such as water canteens, or a sufficient number of tents, and that would be the end of your business venture.” Ardeth softened his voice, his hand cupping the back of Jonathan’s head so he could look into his lover’s eyes, “But I cannot object to you removing yourself from danger. This public house of yours sounds like an excellent idea. I will be sure to visit when I am in Cairo, if you will have me.”

“Thank you, Ardeth.” Jonathan’s smile was wide in the semi-darkness, “And you needn’t worry about me. I promise I’m done with all that business. It’s only going to be respectable food and beverage service and camping supplies from here.”

They kissed, and as always, Jonathan’s enthusiasm was intoxicating to behold.

***

That had been last night.

Jonathan has the grace to be polite and wait until Ardeth has finished his last sip of ersatz coffee. “Ardeth, before you say anything, I’d like you to take a look at what’s in the box.”

The box looks old, older than anything made in the modern era, and suspiciously New Kingdom. There is an inscription carved into the top, and Ardeth’s mood dips alarmingly as he deciphers it.

“This is from the tomb of Ahmose-Meritamun, the Great Royal Wife of Amenhotep the First. Eighteenth Dynasty. To my knowledge, no foreign tomb robbers have found her resting place, though Allah knows they have laboured hard to find it.” He narrows his eyes and bites back the first comment that comes to his mind. “Jonathan, where did you get this?”

“Look inside!” Jonathan hisses, not answering the question. “And for God’s sake please stop glaring at me as though you’d like to vaporise me on the spot!”

Feeling weary, though the day has barely begun, Ardeth flips up the lid. Inside, nestled in a crumpled piece of newspaper, is an amulet carved out of obsidian, set with a garnet, bearing the carved likeness of…

“This is an image of Serket,” he mutters, shutting the lid of the box just as quickly as he opened it. “But the scorpion emblem is pointing the wrong way. Instead of protection for the dead, this is meant to kill anyone who desecrates the tomb of the Great Queen!”

Jonathan spreads his hands in a placating gesture. “Now, Ardeth, old boy, before you jump to any conclusions, I would like to say that there are plenty of good reasons for my bringing this little bauble to your attention.”

“This is no bauble! This is an object used to place curses on any who dare to enter the tomb! I don’t even understand how this was removed without triggering some sort of minor catastrophe!”

Somehow, this does not seem to cause Jonathan any significant amount of concern, which increases Ardeth’s irritation.

“We-ell, yes you see, that’s part of the reason why I decided to come straight to you.”

Ardeth rubs his forehead, feeling the onset of a headache. “As opposed to? Trading it to one of your wastrel friends? Convincing your sister and O’Connell to have one last adventure while you get rich?”

He does not mean to be so blunt, but after last night’s conversation, where Ardeth had truly — _truly!_ — believed that Jonathan Carnahan could finally be outgrowing his appetite for risky endeavours which placed everyone he cared about in danger, he views the box in front of him as a personal insult. Perhaps it is stupid of him to be so affected. Anyone with any ounce of sense would have seen this reversion to treasure seeking as a matter of course.

He expects angry, sputtering denials, and perhaps even Jonathan storming off. What Ardeth doesn’t expect, but gets anyway, is Jonathan grimacing and handing him a small engraved business card. With a sigh, Ardeth takes it and squints at the copperplate script.

“‘Dr Alexander McAllister. Antiquities expert specialising in identification and procurement of Near Eastern artifacts. No commission too obscure, no venture too perilous. Discretion guaranteed.’ This man sounds as though he would rob a widow of her life’s savings and then boast about it in one of your newspapers.”

“He’s even more charming in person, if you can believe it.” Jonathan slides his chair closer to Ardeth’s as a group of customers walk into the smoky den; the tables in here are not exactly spaced for comfort, a deliberate design from the proprietors which is helpful in helping the Medjai gather valuable intelligence, but impractical for nearly anything else. “Listen, I admit I might have lifted the ring using slightly less… orthodox methods, but I did it for a good reason! McAllister heard my name from a mutual acquaintance of ours and came to me to outfit his expedition. But something about him didn’t feel quite, well… he didn’t _quite_ seem like a capital sort of fellow, if you catch my drift.”

Ardeth can’t help himself. “Coming from you, that is damning indeed.”

Jonathan makes a face. “Yes, well you can take it from me, as I am obviously the best judge of character this side of the Nile. Here’s the thing though; I believe they think they will find more of these magical items in that tomb. McAllister’s got a few buyers already lined up to buy them. Who knows what they’ve been promised! I’m not even sure he understands the significance of the ring, either. He seems to think it was used as some kind of grave good to guarantee the deceased a safe journey all the way to the Hall of Justice.”

“The only judgement a tomb robber will receive if they encounter the full force of this protection will be death at the edge of a tomb guardian’s sword,” Ardeth pronounces. “Oh Jonathan, how do these things happen to find you, even after all the warnings I have given?”

“You make it sound as though I had a choice!” Jonathan hisses. “Ardeth, the man was planning to use it in some kind of summoning ritual, if what he’s said is to be believed. He thinks he can make some sort of bargain with the guardian spirits to allow him to plunder it without any supernatural interference. Apparently he heard of our exploits at Hamunaptra and is one of the idiots who actually believes the stories that followed us out of the desert.”

Ardeth purses his lips, thinking. Spurred on by this apparent concession, Jonathan continues. “He flashed that amulet at me this morning when I went to speak to him about getting some camels to carry his gear. I’m not sure what he was trying to do. Impress me, perhaps. As if I haven’t seen my fair share of paraphernalia to raise the dead before.”

“Get to the point, Jonathan.”

“Ahem, yes. Anyway, my point is, this maniac plans to conduct the summoning ritual in Luxor next week. How he happened across the amulet in the first place, I have no idea, but now that he’s got hold of one of the items from Meritamun’s tomb, he thinks he might be able to use it to pinpoint the exact location of the tomb itself. I don’t have to tell you what is more likely to happen instead. Besides, Ardeth, can you imagine if he’s actually successful? What are these treasure hunters going to turn the Valley of the Kings into? And how long do you think it’ll last before someone else decides guardian spirits aren’t effective enough and actually decides to raise our old friend Imhotep again?”

Here, Ardeth must concede, Jonathan does have a good point.

“So, altruism is your primary motivator in telling me this?” he asks Jonathan, moving his hand under the table so that he can slip it between Jonathan’s immaculately linen-clad thighs, which produces a very satisfying squawk of surprise. “I might have underestimated your ability to turn over a new leaf.”

To his credit, Jonathan’s hands shake only a little as he lifts his cup of mint tea to his mouth. “Well, that and the fact that there’ll be very little use for my services if all the bloody archaeologists and treasure hunters are going to take all the fun out of actually going on an expedition. Not much use for supplies if you can convince a three thousand year old supernatural entity to open a tomb for you instead of actually having to dig around in the sand to find something.”

“And you have a plan for how you’d like to stop this man from actually accomplishing his mission?”

Jonathan’s face lights up. He leans close to Ardeth, his lips nearly brushing the tattoo on Ardeth’s cheekbone. “I do, actually, and I’m going to need your help, if you’d be willing.”

Ardeth laughs when Jonathan outlines the plan in more detail. “Yes, alright. Allah forbid I prevent you from turning to a more moral path, my love.”

***

In the end, foiling yet another tomb robber’s plans to steal more of his ancestors’ patrimony is easier than Ardeth expects.

(And if the rewards are, for once, more favourably proportionate compared to what little thanks Ardeth is used to receiving, well, he isn’t one to complain.)

Jonathan’s plan involves him disguising himself as a would-be antiques dealer, and Ardeth as his hapless tomb raiding assistant. They happen across the odious Dr McAllister just as he gets out of the car which has ferried him up the steep hill that leads to the Valley of the Kings. 

Why, Ardeth thinks, the man assumes that a Great Queen would be interred in the Valley of the Kings is revealing of the extent of his supposed expertise, but he keeps silent, and lets Jonathan take the lead. If nothing else, it is always educational to watch Jonathan Carnahan weave his verbal net of whimsical, distracting, highly illogical nonsense.

“You say you could get me more of those trinkets you were showing off to the Carnahan boy, you say?” Jonathan has decided to affect a Scottish accent for some reason, presumably because he thinks it will set McAllister at ease. A fake nose, grey wig and a moustache stuck on with spirit gum, as well as a padded suit he somehow managed to source, complete the look. Ardeth has to remember not to roll his eyes at McAllister’s gullibility. “How fast d’ye think you can get them to me, laddie? New Kingdom’s all the rage with my customers at the moment. Anything that looks like what they dug out of King Tut’s tomb is going for _obscene_ amounts of money.”

McAllister puffs his chest out. Haggling is something he is used to, clearly. He’s a short, balding man, with too-red cheeks from over-drinking and distinctly noxious breath. Ardeth is glad for the kerchief covering his mouth and nose, which blocks some of the smell. “I can confidently say that the merchandise should be ready for shipment tomorrow morning, sir. I have, well… one doesn’t want to reveal one’s trade secrets, but I think I can guarantee that what I’ve got in mind for tonight’s venture will revolutionise the way we retrieve the artifacts for sale.”

“Oh yes?” Jonathan pretends to take the bait. “Well, ye clearly thought this through, haven’t you? And I suppose a brave, modern man like you isn’t afraid of the stories they tell of some of these tombs? Why, Hamunaptra seems like nothing compared to the myths they like to spin about this place.”

“Yes, well…” McAllister looks unbearably smug. “That’s always some truth to folktales like that, isn’t there? No doubt it adds a bit of spice when a client wants to bargain the price of something down. Now, Tutankhamen’s curse, for example…”

“Ah, yes.” Ardeth decides to step in. “If I am not wrong, the curse is nothing to sneer at. Why, it has touched many members of my family who were involved in the dig. My uncle, you see, he managed to obtain a few shabtis to sell to ah… my good friend Mr Carter here.”

McAllister doesn’t look that interested. “And what happened?”

“What happened is that I sold those shabtis to a collector in Greece! Who paid handsomely for them!” Jonathan coughs, catching Ardeth’s eye. “The only trouble is later…”

“My uncle was bludgeoned to death in a back alley in Cairo. His neck was snapped in two and his assistant, my second cousin Abdul — every bone in his body was broken, and his left hand was missing.” Ardeth pauses for dramatic effect before continuing in an off-hand manner. “Of course, they might have got themselves mixed up with the wrong crowd; you know how dockside workers will talk about anything, sir. But you are an intelligent, modern man who is wiser than to believe in the curses of my ancestors.”

“Why the left hand?” McAllister asks, despite himself.

“They say that Abdul was protecting my uncle’s life, and that the shabti they had stolen from the tomb was missing only its left hand. There was a witness, a bar girl from one of those houses of ill-repute on the waterfront. She said she saw a glimpse of the attacker. According to her, whoever it was walked very stiffly, as though they had woken up from a deep slumber. She claimed that it attacked my relatives with its bare hands and tore off Abdul’s hand just as easily as one would pick a ripe fruit from a date palm.”

Ardeth shrugs. “Likely she had been drinking too much that night. You know how some of these young people get. But for many years since, my family has made it a point to avoid robbing royal tombs without first providing some sort of offering to the tomb guardians.”

“Please excuse Khalil here,” Jonathan adds, noting the slightly nauseous look on McAllister’s face. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that hoodoo about spirits and shabtis coming to life, eh? I daresay you look like the sort of man who wouldn’t let odd stories like that put you off! Khalil’s been my supplier for many years now, and he’s come out none the worse for wear. Well… mostly, anyway.”

“Mostly?” McAllister echoes, eyes flicking nervously to the cloth covering the lower half of Ardeth’s face. “You mean he’s fallen foul of some of those traps the chaps in the bar at Shepheard’s are always talking about?”

“We-ell,” the way Jonathan draws out the word is downright cruel, but Ardeth cannot find it in himself to feel even a little sorry for McAllister, who is hanging on to every word. “That’s the thing about appeasing tomb guardians. I mean, God knows I don’t have time for all that nonsense, but Khalil did run into a few problems on the last dig. It’s left _quite_ a mark on him. Show him, man.” He motions at Ardeth, indicating that he should drop the cloth over his face.

Ardeth does. McAllister screams, high-pitched and brittle.

It is amazing what Jonathan has managed to do with rubber putty and paint and a few spare bandages. He’s made Ardeth’s features disappear into what looks like a mass of molten, misshapen skin. He stole some lipstick from Evie too, and made a scarlet gash of Ardeth’s lips. The effect, when seen in the day, would fool no one but the most credulous. Here, however, the flickering torchlight being used to illuminate them plays its part as well, concealing the cruder efforts of the makeup. 

“I thought I had made a bargain with the She Who Tightens the Throat!” Ardeth wails, “She promised me riches beyond my imagination, but instead of bringing me treasure, she punished my presumption with the scorpion’s venom! Be warned!” He reaches out to grasp McAllister’s hand, certain that all that is needed is a little further persuasion. “Look at what she did to me!”

It works. McAllister throws up his hands and, still screaming, beats a hasty retreat back to his car, yelling furiously at his driver. 

In no time at all, the sounds of the motor car have died away. Ardeth wonders if they will make it back to Luxor in one piece.

Jonathan sighs happily, taking off his wig and fake nose and scrubbing a hand through his dark matted curls. “And there he goes. Well done us. Oh, what’s this?” He picks up a yellowed piece of papyrus from the ground. “Looks like our brave adventurer dropped this in his haste to get out. Hang on… this is the idiot’s summoning spell! Ardeth, it looks like something the street kids sell to tourists! There’s no way it would have worked at all.”

Ardeth laughs. “We should thank our luck our friend did not know the difference between magic spells and true words of power, or else we might have needed more than a little powder and paint.” 

He reaches out and pulls Jonathan to him, drawing him close and peeling off the false moustache, revelling in the sight of his lover being revealed to him once again. “I am proud of you, Jonathan. It was a good plan, and well executed. You may just pull off this turn to altruism after all.”

Jonathan flushes.

“Now,” Ardeth pronounces solemnly, “There is the issue of the reward for my assistance.”

“Oh,” Jonathan murmurs, even as Ardeth begins to drag him towards the clapped-out Triumph that they drove here in, “I’m sure I can supply something to suit.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've referenced a few famous Egyptologists in the fic - Howard Carter, Flinders Petrie and Herbert Eustus Winlock. Winlock actually found the tomb of [Ahmose-Meritamun](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ahmose-Meritamun) eventually in 1930.
> 
> More about [Serket](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serket) (She Who Tightens the Throat) - obviously I have taken some artistic license with the Egyptian magical system. 
> 
> Here's some info about [Shabtis](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ushabti). They were supposed to help the deceased in the afterlife, not actually help anyone _enter_ the afterlife (sorry).
> 
> And yes, to my knowledge, no one has died from spells cast to prevent tomb robbers.


End file.
